Chapter 8: How Many Stars? (A.K.A. Kadam finally gets a POV chapter)
Perched delicately at the water's edge, Kelsey looked fiercely into my eyes – as though her realisation had set something ablaze within her, and she was determined to set me on fire too. She continued her stream of thought:
"Rani quits and is paying the babysitter a bonus all of a sudden, - which a low-income single mom would never do if she'd just received a lump sum, she'd save it, or buy something nice, or something they'd been needing for a while. No, she has to have been given a better job – a better offer like she told Jess; and I'd bet you a steakhouse that one of the conditions of getting that job was to leave when and how she did. Gaurav was checking his phone the last time I saw him, what are the odds that he's just received the order to move? Gaurav's a student like me, if someone's offering extra cash – he'll take it and go."
"Would you?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"Would I do what?" She shot back, puzzled.
"Leave. If someone offered you enough money. "She was a student too, after all, with a student's needs and debts. Why should she want to tie herself to an old man? I mean, restaurant. Old restaurant.
She looked at me as though I had punched her. And as though she was going to punch me.
"No." She said finally. "But I might if you ever insinuate that again. I might be a student but..." She looked away and clenched her fist. "You guys are my family. That means far more to me than a few coins." She looked up at me, again. She truly looked like a goddess when she was angry. It was... Frightening and fascinating. "And you should know that, Anik. You of all people."
Indeed I should. Me of all people. Anik Kadam: Too romantic and "free" to settle down, Bollywood's oldest (non-closeted) bachelor – the silver fox of the silver screen. I shook my head. I much preferred being a silver tiger. And here I was, burning my bridges with the lady who had called me so.
"I know." Unthinking, I put an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I just don't want -" I bit my tongue. And sighed. What did I have to lose, aside from a chance at true love? "I don't want you to leave." I admitted. It was true; I didn't want to lose this beautiful, funny and vivacious young woman in front of me. Even if she never chose me, I would not mind – just as long as I could see her.
"Oh." She said with her head resting against my shoulder. Oh? My heartfelt small confession merely merited an "oh?!" I risked changing my position slightly, so that I could see her face. She seemed pensive, and (unless my eyes deceived me) had a small, secretive smile tugging at her peony lips. My heart leapt. I knew that look. I had seen it on the silver screen a thousand times or more, - the hero walking away after an accidental meeting with his love and the heroine left alone with her lovestruck thoughts. A small indulgent smile that looked upon a flickering candle flame of a feeling as it grew. In spite of not having the courage to hope, I did.
"So, where do we go from here?" My Young American asked me.
"Hm?" I knew precisely where I would go, but I was not going anywhere near those thoughts until I was sure she wanted the same. It had been hard enough to avoid licking the sugar off her lips earlier, I had to settle for my own fingers instead.
"About this guy who wants to take us down. What are we gonna do? He's been at it for ten years, he's not just going to stop." She clarified. Ah. That.
"I suppose we have to wait for him to make another move, my Young American. Then, hopefully we'll know who we are dealing with."
"Yeah, I guess."
Eventually the floating candles disappeared, and it became unfair of me to keep Kelsey from her warm bed on a crisp autumn night. No matter how much I wanted her to keep sheltering under my arm. I escorted her to the clock tower, where she she bade me good night and effectively ordered me to go and retrieve my keys from the palm. There are many things that I would do, if she were to order me with that carefree smile. I realised that I had forgotten to give her the small box in my pocket; ah well, there's always tomorrow. I walked back to the restaurant, barely feeling the pavement beneath my feet. I sobered when I reached the door. Tomorrow, Phet would be arriving – and I had to review what I knew about our mysterious malefactor before he did.
Sleep has never come easily to me. Never. I can function on less than three hours if I have to. My mind has to wear itself out, even after running at a thousand miles an hour along twisting roads all day and night, before I can sleep. My thoughts kept turning back to Kelsey. Sweet, strange, funny Kelsey and her learning curve. She absorbs every lesson, every piece of knowledge that comes her way – I'm amazed that she was so spectacularly ignorant as she was when I first met her. She seemed to know a lot an awful lot about certain things (like Powell and Pressburger films), but had these great holes – like the entire history of a country which is closely linked to the one in which she had been living since she was a child. I shook my head. I had to stop thinking about her. Good things did not lie down that path.
I distracted myself by reviewing The Situation. Ten years ago my friend Rajaram died, leaving his restaurant to his two idiot sons. Within two years the family had imploded over some nonsense with the daughter of a family friend, (Yesubai?) they both fancied themselves in love with her and the poor girl was caught in the middle. By the time I returned from a shoot in Dubai, they had sold the restaurant and gone their separate ways; their mother had been less than impressed. I never really knew the couple that bought it next; but I heard that they were devoted to each other. Two years later they had divorced. The stress of running a restaurant can do things to a marriage but... It was a little convenient that it was precisely two years later. Nobody in the community knew anything about the young gun that came next, - except that they were amazed that he had lasted the whole two years. The next one had been some crazy Italian with an Indian wife, no-one had believed him when he said that the mummified rats hadn't been there before – but maybe he was right. Maybe he had been set up. It had been exactly two years since the tapas venture had failed. Surely it could be no coincidence that my staff had decided to play at being Spartacus on the anniversary night?
The whole thing was a headache. Maybe Kelsey would have some thoughts tomorrow. Maybe we could figure it out and in the excitement of celebration -
I mentally slapped myself. You are her boss. You will reign it in and keep it professional. You will only steal a kiss the minute you are sure that she views you as more than a boss, or some cool uncle, or that all the flirting she does with you isn't unconsciously done. In short, Anik Kadam, you shall get a grip. On that note, I went to take a shower.
I awaited service with some impatience. I couldn't wait to see Kelsey's reaction to Phet – he had had what one might like to call an effect on people...
Kelsey did not disappoint. Her face was a picture of what one might politely call disbelief as I introduced her to a small, wiry and bird-like Indian Keith Richards, complete with white, messy hair that gave the general impression that he had spent his life in a cave in a jungle somewhere between Mumbai and Bhopal, - for purely spiritual reasons, of course. I retreated to watch the show from behind the bar.
"I am satisfied to be meeting you, bee-you-tiful Kahl-see!" He said with his best impression of a man that did not speak eight languages (including English) fluently. I tried not to roll my eyes too much.
"Pleased to meet you, Phet," she shook his hand.
"This lowly man is to be the master in the art of restaurant management to your go-ur-ge-o-us self for the months yet to come," he grinned with a mischievous glitter in his eyes. Seriously? Was this 85 year-old idiot using his doddery old foreigner act to flirt?
Kelsey cocked her head to the side, her own treacle eyes sparkling with amusement. Oh thank God, - she wasn't falling for it.
"No man is my master, Phet – unless I wish for it." Was it my imagination, or did her eyes flick over to me? "You can cut the act now," she said firmly.
Phet straightened a little and resumed his normal voice:
"But I was having so much fun! How did you know? Everyone else just assumes I'm a stupid old Indian man."
"One: If Anik hired you, I could safely assume a basic level of competence – and English, particularly if you have experience in the service industry. Two: You really overdid it, man. "I am satisfied to be meeting you" - seriously? Way too complicated for someone who's acting like a beginner English speaker." She raised an eyebrow and a wry smile. It was definitely patronly pride that I was feeling at that moment. Not personal pride – and I certainly didn't mentally praise my Kelsey...
"Ah well. I got cocky." Phet shrugged. "Play the fool and they will underestimate you, then you will have them precisely where you want them."
"I'm a white, female American under the age of thirty living in England, I'm underestimated enough as it is!" She laughed.
I ducked under the bar, as though I were searching for something. I just couldn't risk meeting her eyes. All of a sudden I was acutely aware of just how much I had underestimated her at first, - perhaps for those very reasons. Perhaps Kelsey wasn't the only one who had needed to learn a thing or two.
Service began and I left Kelsey under Phet's capable (if eccentric) instruction. The night was a typical Saturday - that is to say, busy, loud and surreal. There were the usual suspects: Englishmen in quest of the bland in a curry house, students pooling their cash to celebrate something or other and my personal favourite, the semi-drunk group. Our rule has always been: If they can speak coherently and walk in a straight line, then let them in – but keep the water on the table topped up. That night, it was not a group that filled this slot – but a single man, old enough to know better, but still too young to see that. He was quite well-dressed, he screamed "separated from the group to sober up," rather than "had a bad day." I sent "Mo" over to him.
I didn't see what started the commotion. One moment the semi-drunk man was happily negotiating his way around the menu, as Mohandas stood patiently by, - the next the poor boy was flinching and afraid as he stood his ground against the middle-aged man that was suddenly leaning across the table. I noted the change in my young employee's body language with alarm, and listened in:
"There's no way you're "local," mate. Look at you, you're just another fucking Paki." However loudly and obnoxiously those words were said, the menacing chill they sent down my back was quiet and horrifying. "C'mon then, tell us when you really arrived off the boat. Bet you're an illegal." The drunk's slack smile sent fury down me.
"Sir, w-with a-all due respect – I'm probably more local than you are. I-I was born just down the road." His voice wavered, but he stood firm. I was proud, but I had lived in this country long enough to start rushing over. This could get very ugly.
Things moved very quickly after that, the drunk patron – all blotchy red and pink skin and smart clothes in increasing disarray – stood up suddenly. Mohandas took a step back. Before I could get there, there was a flurry of burnt sugar hair and pale skin and Kelsey was stood between them with her eyes burning coals of contempt.
"Sir," she said flatly. "We do not tolerate racial slurs against our staff. Please leave before we feel we need to call the police."
The entire restaurant was watching now, with bated breath. The ball was in his court now. I was stood helplessly by. The wretch appraised her slowly, looking her up and down like a car, or a piece of meat. He smiled. I have never wanted to hit someone more in my entire life.
"I'll leave if you come with me, babe. Whaddaya say we dump the Jihadi Johns and hit the town?"
My arms were pinned back in Alan's vice-like grip. Apparently I'd tried to make a lunge for him then and there.
"He's not worth it, mate. Leave it." Alan murmured urgently into my ears. From where I was standing, it seemed pretty damned worth it to me. Kelsey opened her mouth to speak. I immediately stopped struggling. Both Alan and I needed our arms free to help at any moment.
"Not a snowball's chance in hell, babe." She spat venomously. "Call me modern, but I find racism and general douchebaggery deeply unattractive traits."
The man's face darkened and he made as if to step forward. In an instant she found herself standing shoulder to shoulder with myself, Alan, Mohandas and Phet. His step forward became a step backwards.
"So which one is it?" He was still retreating towards the door. "The paki, the chink, the old one, or the really old one? Which one's fucked you into forgetting where you belong?"
Kelsey's lips turned into a delicate sneer, and I instinctively knew that I should let her do the talking.
"No "fucking" is required for me to know that I belong here, and you belong out there with your sorry ass kissing tarmac."
As if we had planned it, we all stepped forward. The vulgar wretch made his way to the door with his hands stretched out in a gesture of surrender; before he made his exit he narrowed his eyes and looked at Kelsey:
"Be seeing you, babe." And then he was gone.
The restaurant broke out into applause, whooping and cheering. I looked around. White, black, Asians of all persuasions were united in showing that they were better. Leicester has always been an accepting place, but there will always be one ass-hole willing to be the exception to the rule. Kelsey smiled and took a mock bow. She grasped Mohandas' shoulder and muttered praise for his bravery. Her hands were giving an earthquake a run for its money.
"Take over," I muttered to Phet as I lead an increasingly shaky Kelsey to my office.
I sat her down in my chair and went to the bar. It was supposed to be brandy for shock, wasn't it? I poured out half a tumbler and made a note to pay for it later. I pressed the glass into her hands and pulled up a chair next to her.
"Drink," I ordered her.
She took a gulp and shivered. She placed her empty glass on the desk.
"Fuck..." She looked at her hands, still shaking violently. I grasped them. She looked up at me, the beginnings of tears shining out of those dark eyes. She really had been scared. And it was only just hitting her. "I.. That... I..." You could see the thoughts jumbling behind her large, brilliant eyes.
"You were very brave, Kelsey."
"No, I wasn't. I was being decent." She looked away.
"I've been living in this country a long time now, my Young American, and not one in one thousand would have defended that boy as you did. And even fewer would have continued after he started to attack them personally."
"Really?"
"Sad, but true." I shrugged comically. She chuckled. It was worth it. "You were brave, but spare an old man a heart attack and let me deal with it next time!" She laughed. It was worth drawing attention to my age, just to hear her laugh.
I got up and went to my coat pocket and retrieved the small blue-leather box that had been there since the night before. I sat by her side again and placed it in her small pale hands.
"It's from all three of us." I explained. "Priya, Akash and myself. I meant to give it to you yesterday. It's just to show you that we consider you part of our little family, no matter what."
She opened up the box to reveal a genuine silver bracelet inlaid with chips of smoky quartz and onyx, with one small, silver, hanging jasmine flower; if you looked into the flower itself, there was a single, sparkling piece of grass green peridot.
Kelsey covered her mouth. She eventually revealed a little smile:
"Are you sure? This is so beautiful!"
"No more than you," I hurried forward quickly – hoping she wouldn't notice. "But if you don't want it -"
"No! Of course I do. Thank you. To all of you." Judging by the depth of her blush, she had caught my (entirely truthful) remark on her beauty. It was most likely a good time not to mention that the bracelet wasn't from all three of us, so much as all me of us...
She was struggling a little with doing the clasp one-handed. I helped her out.
"I feel kinda bad for just giving you dessert now." She joked.
"Don't be. I happen to have a sweet tooth."
Our eyes anchored onto each other. I was suddenly very aware of my hand still resting on her slim wrist. I thought I could smell her shampoo from where I was, perhaps if I leaned in a little closer...
There was a knock at the door. I pulled away reluctantly.
"Come in," I called out.
"The police are here," Phet said. "A customer called them. Do you want to see them?" His eyes never left my hand upon Kelsey's.
I sighed. If we needed their help later, we needed to get them involved now.
"Send them in." I went to greet them.
After being interviewed, separately, we were all eventually allowed to leave. As detained customers left, some of them stopped to speak to Kelsey – to tell her how brave she was, how beautiful and brave she was. One old woman asked if she would be interested in getting to know her grandson, a wrong 'un in need of a good influence – apparently. And Kelsey, my beautiful, blushing, brave and clever Kelsey, received them all with grace – with smiles and quips and reassurances. In a different age she would have made a fine Queen.
I sent Kelsey to the office to get her things. It went without saying that I was driving her home. Who knows who might be there, waiting in the dark? I knew that That Man's parting shot was still causing her considerable distress. And amidst all of the chaos I couldn't help but think how convenient it was that a single, obnoxious drunk racist misogynist had turned up and tried to intimidate and insult all of my waiting staff at once...
"Anik." I heard Phet's voice beside me. He spoke to me in Hindi. "That was certainly a night to remember. The customers loved it, maybe we should make it a weekly staple? The White Tiger's Weekly Dinner-Theatre!"
"If that never happens again in my life, it won't be soon enough!"
"For you, or young Kelsey it seems." He looked at me shrewdly.
"What? We're.. Close. Like family."
"Your wife is still your family," he countered.
"We're not -" I attempted to protest.
"You're not doing anything yet. I've known you since you were a headstrong little boy with his head in the stars; you think because you're a headstrong man with his head in the stars that you can try and bullshit me?" He finished with a wry smile.
"She's so much younger than me..."
"The Beatles said "she loves you" and I agree."
"But how -"
"She's coming over."
I closed my mouth pretty quickly. As we were leaving, Phet called over:
"Good night, my star-struck children. Don't fuck it up!"
I shook my head as Kelsey cocked her head to the side in puzzlement. I had an octogenarian rocker's murder to arrange later.
We drove back in silence. I dropped her off and bid her good night. I stayed buckled into my seat. If I had so much as touched that button, I would have been outside and pressing her against the car as I kissed her with all the passion I could muster. But she was my employee. My undergraduate employee who had just been through emotional trauma. I could not take advantage of her like that. The office had been a close call. I watched her walk away.
My phone rang before service on Monday. According the screen it was "The Young American" on the line. I pressed the little green telephone:
"Hello?" I couldn't hear anything but rattling, uneven breaths. "Kelsey? Are you okay?"
"How does he know where I live?" I heard her voice shake.
"What? How does who know where you live?" Worry is a paltry and anaemic description for the pure panic which I was gripped by.
"The guy. The creepy racist motherfucker from Friday night. He's standing opposite my apartment." She whispered in a small, shaking and terrified voice.
Tune in next week folks! First off, thank you all you lovely people who have reviewed/continue to review and favourite this story. You're lovely people deserving of all the Indian sweets you can lay your hands on. Elizabeth Smith asked a couple of chapters ago me if the Bachchan film Cheeni Kum was what inspired this fic. The answer is no, but the ever wonderful Estora has created a most excellent and bodacious film trailer for this fic (!) using footage from tit - which can be found at www. youtube watch?v=3I7v6smo5AA (get rid of the gaps).
Bit by bit, the mystery appears - but will Kadam be able to restrain himself until their enemy steps out from the shadows?
